


A Little Gingko and Goatweed Never Hurt Anybody

by BlindSwandive



Category: Supernatural
Genre: But They're Both Into It, Dub-con from magic, F/M, Magic Made Them Do It, Rough Sex, Rowena is thirsty, Sam cares about consent, Well - witch's apprentice anyway, Witch Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22609945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindSwandive/pseuds/BlindSwandive
Summary: Rowena isn't above nudging the fates in the right direction when she wants something.  And that something just happens to be Samuel Winchester.Or, Rowena has been sneakily teaching Sam magic and she just maybe slips a little something into that potion to get him revved up.
Relationships: Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester
Comments: 22
Kudos: 58
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	A Little Gingko and Goatweed Never Hurt Anybody

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingstoken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingstoken/gifts).



> I love these two but have never written them together before. Kingstoken, I hope you enjoy it!!

"I don't—Dean wouldn't like this," Sam stammered (adorably, Rowena thought). It was his refrain every time they snuck an afternoon together to practice spellwork, but it hadn't stopped him showing up yet.

"Samuel, dear," Rowena crooned, "in this instance, what Dean doesn't know won't hurt him." She tapped his bicep with one long fingernail—finely-manicured, if she did say so herself. Aubergine, to match her amethysts. As if little mister plaid-and-denim would notice.

Then again, she was fairly certain she smelled almond and argan oil when he pushed his hair behind his ear, and his nails were suspiciously clean. Trimmed and filed, for certain. Possibly buffed.

Maybe he'd notice after all. If he ever looked up.

Sam nodded, but his eyes stayed fixed on the herbs he was crushing with mortar and pestle. Oh, well.

"Finer, Samuel," she instructed, and watched his entire back roll into the work on her word. She did so appreciate the way the muscles corded and rolled beneath his shirt; she wanted to run both hands over them, flat-palmed, while he really put his back into something. She could think of a few activities. 

"Much better," she purred. "We'll make a witch of you yet."

Small blotches of pink lit Sam's cheeks and the tip of his nose. What would it take to turn his ears red, she wondered?

Rowena glanced down at the spell they were planning to try that afternoon and did a few quick mental calculations. Maybe...

"Samuel," she said, all false sweetness and chagrin, "I think I left the frog's liver in the refrigerator, would you just be a dear and fetch it?"

Sam wiped his forehead on the back of his sleeve and nodded, wordlessly heading for the kitchen. As soon as she heard the fridge open, Rowena quickly added a dash each of two ingredients to the bowl. 

"That ought to do the trick," she murmured. No time to measure, but really, it was as much an art as a science.

"I'm not seeing it," Sam called from the kitchen, "are you sure it's in the fridge?"

"Oh, silly me," she said aloud, surreptitiously turning the thermostat up four degrees. That ought to get him out of his overshirt, at the least. "Why, it was just under the parchment here. You could fetch the chardonnay while you're in there, though..."

She thought she heard a soft laugh, then the scrape of the bottle. "Glasses?"

"Cupboard to the right, dear."

There was a bright clink of crystal—good crystal, because Rowena had standards—and then Sam was back, setting down the glasses and prying at the cork. "You know, I'm not sure it's a great idea to mix alcohol and witchcraft."

Rowena laughed prettily while he poured. "Oh, dear Samuel, if that were true I wouldn't have survived _nearly_ this long." 

They clinked glasses and Sam finally managed a bit of eye contact and a shy smile. 

"In fact," she added coyly, waiting for him to sip, "I find a little lubrication can help to... ease the flow of creative energy."

Sam choked on cue.

"Oh, dear," she cooed apologetically, taking the opportunity to rub firm circles on his back while he coughed. The taut muscles were as hard as she'd imagined, like coils of rope heaving heavy sails—Lord, did she want to dig her nails in! 

"Makes a girl want to set sail," she murmured into her wine.

"What?" Sam asked, when the coughing subsided.

"Nothing, dear. Well, I suppose it's back to work, then," she said innocently, gesturing at the newly uncovered jar containing some half dozen frog livers. Sam nodded and quickly downed his glass before setting it aside.

Rowena repressed the urge to roll her eyes. With shoulders like that, she supposed he could afford to be a little gauche. She wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers—or drinking her good chardonnay as though it were cheap lager, for that matter. She quietly refilled it.

Sam dutifully plucked out livers and ground them into paste, but by the time he'd finished, there was a pretty little sheen of sweat on his forehead. For the moment he only pushed his sleeves up his forearms, but it was a start. Rowena leaned against an ill-gotten but very attractive china cabinet and sipped quietly to keep cool, stage directing as needed.

Three more ingredients and Sam had begun to look distinctly uncomfortable. Too polite to complain, he finally shrugged out of his overshirt, uncuffing and rolling up both sleeves to the elbows. Rowena would never admit she was a little overwarm herself, but she had the poise to hide it well. When the veins started to stand out on Samuel's thick forearms as he worked, though, she might have gotten just a touch flushed.

Sam let out a quiet huff and wiped his forehead on the cuff of his sleeve again, stepping back from the bowl to let her check his work. She gave it a cursory glance—he hadn't mismeasured by so much a pinch in weeks and she didn't expect him to now—and nodded curtly. "You can add the river water now. Of course the real test of whether you've done everything correctly will come when you drink it." She didn't mention that the stakes were higher with her minor alterations taken into account.

Sam swallowed visibly, his throat bobbing hard. He hadn't balked out loud since the first time, but his attempt at a confident smile was always a touch seasick when it came time to be his own test subject. Rowena had eventually taken mercy on him and admitted she had antidotes ready for most of the common misformulations but those wouldn't make the boils or blindness or hallucinations any more pleasant while they lasted, if he stepped astray.

Taking a slow breath, Sam carefully measured from the jar of river water and checked the amount against the formula twice before adding it to the bowl. There was a soft hiss and a delicate curl of purple energy wafted up from the surface of the potion. Sam immediately looked at her as earnest as a puppy awaiting her verdict, but she raised her palms. "You know the rules, Samuel. Provided I'm reasonably certain it won't kill you—which I am—you'll just have to find out for yourself."

Sam nodded and took another steadying breath, swallowed down his second glass of wine (presumably for courage), and lifted the bowl. 

"Slàinte," Rowena toasted, raising her wine glass, and they drank together. 

The emptied bowl gave a satisfying clang when Sam thumped it back down on the table.

There were a few quiet seconds where it seemed nothing was happening, but then Sam's body arced like an electrical current had gone through it, which wasn't all that far from the truth. Some magics were subtle and gentle, but taking your own potion by mouth was always a bit of a shock to the system, like plugging yourself directly into the main without insulation. There was static in the air, and the smell of ozone, and Sam's mouth and eyes shot open wide, the raw power spilling out of both in a deceptively soft purple glow. For a long moment he hung there frozen, rigid, the glow pulsing like a heartbeat, and then he fell.

Rowena winced delicately and took a sip of her wine before tip-toeing over to him. Sam looked like a puppet whose strings had been cut, collapsed in an awkward heap of long limbs, and she sank carefully down to her knees to get a better look. She was just reaching out to feel for a pulse when he lurched up gasping, both hands latching onto her shoulders fit to crush her.

"Rr-roh—" he slurred, but she shushed him gently, awkwardly shifting in his grip to set her wine glass aside. Heat was radiating from his body all over, his hands stinging hot on her skin even through the fabric of her sleeves. She took his face in both hands, tipping it slightly left to right while she peered; the glow had receded to the edges, but his eyes were out of focus and didn't track her. A bead of sweat broke down his forehead and he panted for breath. He looked dazed with fever. And hungry.

The potion was a simple one; in plainest terms, it was bottled vigor, a boon for the injured or weak or exhausted, and something Sam rightly thought might come in handy on a hunt. In practical terms, it was a jolt of kinetic energy that could be directed any which way by the body's need or sufficient intent on the witch's part—or, of course, the addition of other ingredients. Add hawthorne and it would treat ailments of the heart. Red raspberry leaf and bitter kola would bring a safe and expedient childbirth. Gingko and horny goatweed, well... 

Call it a boost for circulation and stamina.

Call it heightened... sensitivity, stimulation, appetite.

Call it one hell of an aphrodisiac.

"Rr-roh... Rowena," Sam panted, pained, "get... you have to get... away..." His hands disagreed, though, roving rough and trembling over her arms, drawing her in bodily. "Not safe..." he breathed out, then tipped to breathe in her skin, her hair. "Need—can't—"

"Shh, Samuel," Rowena purred, "I'm a big girl, you're _really_ not going to hurt me—"

She was winded when she hit the floor, though, bowled over under the sheer mass of him. Somewhere nearby her wineglass fell and shattered.

Sam panted and hung over her like some big predatory cat, chest heaving with the labor of breathing and rippling with coiled tension. "What did you do?" he gritted out, feverish eyes struggling to focus on hers even as they dilated wide.

For a full three seconds, Rowena considered feigning indignant innocence. Sam would believe her, after all, if she told him the mistake was his. But the tiny ember of conscience the Winchesters seemed to stoke awake in her cold little heart clucked at her disapprovingly, and she sighed inwardly. And anyway, if he turned on the righteous guilt he'd probably go lock himself in a closet until the urge passed. Honesty might just this once be the best policy.

"I... may have _accidentally_ tipped a little something into your drink, dear. Nothing harmful," she soothed, when Sam looked alarmed. "Just a bit of... encouragement." She lightly tapped his sternum with a fingertip.

"You..." Sam's face twisted with the effort of speech, of control. He looked like a dam about to break, all barely bridled power and force hovering above her, about to come crashing down. "You... want this? Me?" 

Lord, did she want to be under that wave when it landed!

"Don't you?" she asked, coy.

"A-answer me, Rowena," he growled, and the line of danger laced through it sent a warm thrill through the middle of her. "I won't—I can't, not if you—"

"Aye, aye," she soothed, but it came out breathless. She ran a palm up his chest, curled her fingers around the back of his neck. "I want you, Samuel Winchester."

Sam's eyes closed in—bliss? relief?—and he fell on her like a beast half-starved. His teeth scraped over her throat.

"Want you, too," he murmured against her neck, mouthing between the jewels and her carefully chosen low-cut neckline, and Rowena arched up into him, finally wrapping her arms around his broad chest, digging her nails into his back. 

_Much_ better than she imagined. It was a crime he kept all of that shrouded under so many layers.

"Take off that shirt," she demanded, and no, it didn't sound needy, thank you. He obeyed, and then there was all that molten hot skin and hard muscle beneath and she groaned appreciatively. She hitched the constricting skirt of her gown up over her hips so she could wrap her legs around his narrow waist and pulled him back in flush against her.

Sam let out a harsh sound, all pain and need, and rocked against her, hard and hot where she was soft and warm. His arms dug under her and she arched gracefully to let him wrap her in his crushing grip.

There was a dizzy moment while the world upended, and then Rowena found herself hauled up against Sam's chest and just as fast pressed between his body and the nearest wall. She wrapped her legs tighter around his waist and her arms around his neck, but she had no fear he would drop her; he had lifted her like she weighed nothing, easy as he tossed around those duffle bags full of guns and blades. 

"Can I—can I kiss you?" he asked, hovering over her mouth, and Rowena almost laughed at the gentleness.

"Yes, sweet boy," she said, threading her fingers into his hair, "kiss me!"

The sweetness evaporated as he swallowed her mouth up, crushing her between the wall and his body. One hand roamed hot over her hip, her thigh, up under her skirt, and Rowena groaned encouragement, toeing off her pumps to dig a heel into the muscle of his ass. He kissed like he could devour her entirely.

"I—I want to—" he panted when he came up for air and she cut him off.

"Yes," she said, not waiting for details, "do it," and he groaned relief. She angled her hips away from the wall, to make room for him to maneuver, but then they were spinning again and she found herself deposited on the table they'd been working at, instead, the bowl and a few odd jars clattering off onto the floor, and he was pressing her down flat on her back.

Sam's hands slid up along her hips, gripping at the waistband of the flimsy lace panties she'd worn just in case. Not that he paid them much mind. As soon as they were off, he dropped them without a glance, scooping her knees up onto his shoulders and bowing inward to hungrily kiss the insides of her thighs.

Rowena began to slide her legs down again, ready to grip and pull him in against her like a spider with prey, but he sank, instead, burying his face between her legs. 

Sam nosed in the curls of soft fur like an animal, breathing her in with a care he hadn't shown the wine, like she might be a finer vintage.

"Oh, _Samuel,_ " she crooned approvingly as his tongue dipped into her folds, reverent and hungry. "But lord, you must be positively aching by now..."

Sam made a kind of pained sound against her that she took for an affirmative, but his tongue, fever-hot, was undeterred, mapping the territory and delving deep. Even desperate he was worshipful, and Rowena felt a little drunk on the heady power of that, tangled her hands in his hair and squeezed him with her thighs. He gripped her hips tight, like the thought of her slipping away unsatisfied was unconscionable, but let her guide him with her hands where she needed him, just as eager a student here as with magic. She writhed unhurried while his need must be building, must be maddening, until she melted easy into a blissful orgasm under his mouth.

He kissed her thighs again, soft and hovering, but his hands on her hips had started to tremble. She wondered how long he'd wait there for her, how long the need would build before it was too much, how much he would endure if she asked... 

With a languid stretch, Rowena pushed herself up to sit. "I think you'd better come back up here, Samuel," she purred low.

He came open-mouthed, kissing her neck, the tops of her breasts, her jaw, her mouth, and only reluctantly broke long enough to peel her dress off over her head. When she murmured in his ear that she would appreciate it if he would get inside of her already, thank you, he tore into his wallet so wildly for a condom that it spilled a shower of change and cards over the floor, but he didn't seem to notice, let alone care. She was mashed back against his chest in a moment, the table gone from beneath her, and she wrapped on tight.

Lord, it was like climbing a tree!

Sam surged up inside of her and they let out two choked groans in unison; he seemed to be everywhere, filling her completely and wrapped around her, consuming and half-wild. He staggered with her in his arms until they were back up against the nearest wall, and the leverage let him drive up inside of her with an animal need and power. Her own weight was pulling her down onto him, too, pushing him up impossibly deeper inside of her, and soon she was groaning from deep in her belly, almost aching with it.

If Rowena had thought Sam would be strong, thought he had something powerful lurking beneath the gentle, awkward exterior, she still hadn't been prepared for this. Sam with his inhibitions ebbing away, giving into his need, was like a force of nature, a breath away from brutality, and Rowena couldn't remember the last time anything had felt this _good._ It felt like riding a storm, heavy with lightning and howling. 

Sam was insatiable and unwavering, and eventually an ache began to coil around inside of Rowena again, heavy and slow. It felt dangerous somehow, like it would be too much when it peaked, like all that power would need to vent, escape as electricity. 

Her arms and legs were starting to tremble with the strain, her back slipping against the wall with their sweat, and Sam was still covering her throat and face with open-mouthed kisses, biting soft marks and smoothing them away with his tongue. When Rowena crested again, she howled, and there was another crackle of static in the air. Not lightning, but definitely sparks.

Soon Sam bit down on her shoulder, hard, and the sound that came out of him was full of pain and satisfaction, desperation and relief at once. Rowena thought she smelled ozone again. 

Together they slid down the wall to the floor, tangled in a mass of sweating limbs and disheveled hair. Sam collapsed onto his back and panted, and Rowena awkwardly climbed off to lie beside him. It wasn't easy finding a spot without broken glass or coins, but she managed.

They were quiet for a few minutes, until Rowena finally stretched like a cat, infinitely pleased.

"Same time next week, then?" She'd need at least a few days to charm all the glassware against breaking, after all.


End file.
